A Ghost Tale for Christmas Time by Osborne Mary Pope

Author:Osborne, Mary Pope [Osborne, Mary Pope]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-375-89467-1
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2010-12-08T08:00:00+00:00

Night was falling as Charles led Jack and Annie across the street to an old inn. Candles twinkled in the paned windows. Charles ushered them through the door and into a warm dining room. The room had low ceilings with dark wooden beams. A fire crackled in a huge fireplace at one end.

“Ah, Mr. Dickens, welcome! Welcome!” said a man with a pointed nose and small eyes. He bowed low and rubbed his hands together.

“Thank you, Mr. Pinch,” said Charles.

“What brings you to my humble inn today?” Mr. Pinch asked.

“I’ve come to dine with my two friends, Mr. Pinch,” said Charles.

The innkeeper looked down at Jack and Annie. He frowned at their ragged, muddy clothes. “These are your friends, Mr. Dickens?” he said. He wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something bad.

“Yes. They are hardworking children,” said Charles. “And they are quite hungry.”

“I see.…” Mr. Pinch looked fretfully around the room. “Well, what about that table in the corner, Mr. Dickens?”

“Yes, Mr. Pinch, that will be fine,” said Charles.

Mr. Pinch ushered them to the table. A waiter brought them silverware and lit a candle. Some of the diners began to notice Charles Dickens and whispered to one another.

An elegantly dressed couple came over to the table. “Excuse me, Mr. Dickens,” the woman said shyly. “But I want you to know how much my husband and I love your stories.”

“Why, thank you!” said Charles, grinning. “Tell me, what do you love most about them?”

As the couple began talking about their favorite scenes from his books, more people gathered around Charles Dickens.

At the same time, serving people delivered heaping plates of food to the table: baked apples, turkey drumsticks, steak pie, mashed potatoes, brown bread, buttery cheese, dark jam, and steaming cups of tea. Jack and Annie started to eat at once. Gobbling his mashed potatoes, Jack noticed that Charles Dickens didn’t even look at his food. He was too busy laughing and talking with his fans.

People all over London love Charles, Jack thought. So why did Merlin send us here? So far Charles was only helping them. They weren’t helping him at all.

“Jack, look,” Annie whispered. She pointed toward a window.

A man and a small boy were staring through the glass, their faces lit by candlelight. The man was leaning on a crutch. He and the boy were both thin and sad-looking.

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